


You'll Never Be Alone

by sansasbitch



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Femslash, Post Season 7, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Stark Family Dramatics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-09 03:04:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12267558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansasbitch/pseuds/sansasbitch
Summary: A post-season 7 fic about when Sansa Stark meets Daenerys Targaryen at Winterfell. **If I decide to update this it won't be till after the fall semester is over in December**





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (not an official summary yet) This takes place where season 8 would pick up, except there are a few changes. 1. boats*x didn’t happen, that would make it too complicated and I don’t wanna do a love triangle thing so yeah. 2. The Night King didn’t destroy the Wall yet, I didn’t want there to be like danger right away I wanted this story to be more chill and just focus on Sansa and Dany and what’s going on in Winterfell, you know? That’s about it so just give it a read if you want to :-) its gonna be slow burn af though just a warning. Also I might go back in and change some things around, add dialogue, fix grammar, etc. I’m just very insecure about my writing and am always going back to change things!

Sansa Stark was seated alone in the Great Hall of Winterfell, eyeing the cream colored parchment with a broken Stark seal that she had received moments ago. The air around her was cold and silent, save for her heavy breaths. She moved the parchment between her leather gloved fingers, nervous of what this letter means, what it will change. Sansa noticed she had been biting down hard on her bottom lip and she made a note to stop. This was the first letter she received from Jon in months, and she didn't know what to feel. Joy? Aggravation? Betrayal? It was probably a culmination of all three, yet she was so heated and overwhelmed by the contents of the letter that she couldn’t quite make sense of it. 

Jon was coming home. He had written that they had landed a ship in White Harbor and would be arriving shortly. It was a sigh of relief, a weight lifted off Sansa’s shoulders. Yet the next part of the letter hit Sansa at her core. It was the one thing she asked him not to do, don’t be as stupid as Robb. Or Father. The one thing she thought she could trust that he would never do, that he even said he would never do. Yet he’s hand delivering our home to a Southron ruler. She couldn't believe he could be this stupid. Was the only thing to stop a man from keeping to his word and going against his beliefs a pretty face? Was it that simple? Was he that simple? Was he not their king? Was he just going to abandon everything their family had fought years for? For this Mother of Dragons?

Sansa crumpled the letter up in her hands. She hadn’t notified the Northern Lords of this and she wouldn't. She knew they would leave Jon, there was no doubt in her mind. They almost abandoned him just because he went south, bringing home a Southron Queen would surely be the final straw. Only just months before, they were declaring him their king. Now he was going to tell them to bend the knee to an outsider? A Southroner? Sansa knew now how much could change in a few months, how simple loyalties were to men. This was Jon’s mess, she wouldn't take the aggression of the Northern Lords for her brother’s stupidity. 

 

The day Sansa was dreading had arrived. She was sitting in the Great Hall for breakfast when she heard a guards voice signaling that there were visitors at the southern gate. Only Arya, Bran, and herself knew about the Mother of Dragons accompanying their brother on his return. Sansa had told the Northern Lords to wait until this evening before coming to the Great Hall to greet their king so that she and her siblings could reunite with Jon in private.

Sansa’s stomach was in knots as she made her way towards the gate. She hated that he had to return this way, after all this time she didn't even want to see him, to deal with the harsh reality of what his arrival meant for her home. She was the last to arrive by the gate, her brother and sister looked back at her and must’ve noticed the distressed look on her face since their eyes were on her a little longer than they should have. The three of them exchanged looks in the dead silence, only the whistling of wind and crunching of the snow beneath her boots could be heard.

Sansa was subconsciously rubbing her hands together from either the cold or her nerves, she couldn't quite tell. There was another snow storm happening, which was much more frequent since winter had started. Sansa felt the snow biting at her cheeks as it came down. She stood next to her sister who focused her attention on the guards, waiting for the moment for them to start to open the gate. Sansa felt hurt by her sister’s reaction to what Jon had done. Only a month before Arya was accusing her of the exact same thing that Jon had done, yet she showed no distaste for her brother. If Sansa had gone South as the Lady of Winterfell and returned home with a Southron King to take back their country, Arya would have her head before she even entered the gates. 

“It will work out, Sansa.” Bran said, pulling her out of her thoughts. She looked at her brother and he stared back at her with the same empty stare of a stranger that he had since he returned home, the stare of the ‘Three-eyed Raven’, not Bran. “They’ll come to remember there are bigger problems to face,” he added in the same monotonous tone. 

Sansa let out a sigh, she could only hope the Northern Lords will stand with Jon’s decision, yet she didn't and she was his kin. The difference is she will still stand by his side, she couldn't say the same for the other Lords. Sansa made eye contact with Arya, her eyes still seemed wary of her sister. Even though they understand they're both on the same side, no longer pitted against each other by Littlefinger’s deceptions, Sansa couldn't help but think her sister still didn't completely trust her. Arya just gave her a slight nod, agreeing with Bran, and turned to look back at the gate. Her expression was too blank to read any indication of her thoughts. Sansa wondered if she seemed as strange and foreign to Arya as Arya was to her, even more so than when they were children. She knew that Arya was as excited to see Jon again, she couldn't hide that from her. Sansa could understand why Arya didn't seem to be as angry with Jon’s decisions as she was. She always had known him better, but they were two very different people now, living in a very different world.

The gates began to open and out of the corner of her eye, Sansa saw her sister step forward as if she were about to sprint to Jon the second she saw him. Sansa let out a little smile at that, there’s still some of that old Arya left in her.

She saw Jon first, leading their group on horseback. He looked the same as the day he left, his hair pulled back like Father used to wear, and the cloak she made him still draped around his shoulders. He still looked as Northern as ever, and she was thankful for that, knowing what could happen to a Northerner in the South. But still there was something about him that had changed in Sansa’s eyes. Sansa didn't feel as happy as she thought she would be after seeing Jon for the first time in months. She felt his betrayal in her stomach the second she made eye contact with him. Sansa heard murmurs around her by the guards and she knew they were about the woman riding through the gates right by their King’s side.

She was completely captivating, and for a moment, Sansa almost understood her brother. She had hair like no one Sansa had seen before, Targaryen hair, long and bright silver, braided down her back. She was in a thick, white, fur-lined dress with scale detailing that represented her house and the infamous dragons that Sansa had yet to see. Daenerys almost blended in with the snow around her with her white hair, white dress, and white horse. For a woman who is said to have walked through fire, she looked like the embodiment of winter.

The second Jon dismounted from his horse, Arya ran to her brother like she was nine years old again and jumped in his arms. He lifted her off the ground and buried his face in her shoulder. Sansa heard Jon say “I’ve missed you, little sister,” into her hair but she couldn't make out what Arya had said back. Jon walked over to Bran next while he sat as still as ever, the first words uttered to his brother after years of separation were “I have much to tell you, Jon.” Sansa figured it was probably more about the Night King.

She turned her attention towards Daenerys again and the people she had brought to her home. There were thousands of Unsullied soldiers and Dothraki warriors at her back on thousands of horses. In the summer, they would be a fiercely tough opponent to battle. Yet now they looked like they were freezing half to death, covered in probably no more furs than they left home with. She could already foresee a great portion of them dying before they make it back to King’s Landing, or even before they get to the Wall. Jon said he needed Daenerys’ army to fight the dead if they wanted a chance of winning, but these warriors are in a much different world than they're used to.  
“Sansa.”

She was pulled out of her thoughts by arms wrapping around her shoulders in a hug. It was Jon. Although she was cross with him, she hugged him back, squeezing her arms tightly around his waist. She rested her head on him and exhaled a sigh of relief deeply into his shoulder. It was a breath that she had been holding since the day he left her alone in Winterfell. 

“I know,” he whispered back. They both pulled away and he cupped her cheek in his calloused hand and brushed his thumb across her cold skin. His eyes looked like they were asking for forgiveness, but Sansa wasn't going to have this conversation right now, in front of all these people especially. 

She turned her head away from his hand and her eyes caught Arya’s again, who looked shocked. “That is probably the strangest thing to happen to this family,” Arya joked looking back and forth between Jon and Sansa until they cracked a smile. 

Jon’s smile faded as he made eye contact with Sansa, “we all have a lot to catch up on later, I’m sure.”

“Wife,” Sansa heard an all too familiar voice from her past say. 

Tyrion Lannister. She hadn't seen him arrive at the gates. He looked much more unkempt than she remembered. His dark blonde hair grown out shaggy, accompanied by a full, thick, dark beard. He would be barely recognizable if he didn't have his distinguishing height and scar that sliced diagonally across his face. 

“That’s the Lady of Winterfell you're talking to, Lannister,” Arya bit at him, spitting out his surname as if it were a curse. Sansa could see Jon scolding Tyrion out of the corner of her eye as well. Regardless, Sansa had never seen Arya defend her in this way.

Sansa was silent but Tyrion spoke up anyway, “my apologies, my lady,” he announced to Arya. “Lady Stark and I just have quite the history you see.”

She heard Arya began to start up again but Sansa beat her to it. “Lord Tyrion,” she spoke, giving him a soft nod, “I see our years apart have treated you well.” She was as courteous as ever. She didn't particularly have any harsh feelings towards Tyrion Lannister, but he was serving the queen that could potentially ruin her house. Yet so was Jon. 

Tyrion tilted his head downward a bit and let out a hushed laugh, “And you’ve risen high in the world,” he stated, “I’ve always believed you would.” He had always said kind things to her like that, recognized her strengths and intelligence. 

“Daenerys,” Jon called out, breaking the short silence. 

Sansa looked up from Tyrion and sure enough, only feet away, there she stood. Sansa briefly made eye contact with the Mother of Dragons before glancing at the party accompanying her. To her right was a darker skinned, woman with thick, curly black hair. Sansa could tell that she was shivering even under her thick furs. She took it that the woman was from Essos, never seeing a flake of snow in her lifetime. Yet neither had her Queen and she seemed to be fine, as if heated by her own warmth. 

Tyrion stepped backwards for Daenerys to take his place in front of her family. The curly haired woman spoke up, “This is Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, The First of Her Name, The,” she was cut off by her queen raising a hand signaling her to stop.

“Thank you, Missandei, but I think the Starks can go without my full title,” she said, giving Jon a short smile. 

She truly was beautiful, Sansa thought. Very soft spoken, yet stern, Sansa could tell she would have the strong voice of an effective ruler when need be. Even with a small smile at her lips, the kindness in her violet eyes showed tenfold. 

“Lady Stark,” Daenerys addressed her with a slight nod of the head and the same delicate smile playing on her lips. 

Sansa wasn't sure of what to say. She knew she had to be a lady, but this woman was not her queen. Daenerys surely must have known that she would not be welcomed by the people of the North as their queen. “Your grace,” she decided on, bowing her head and giving a curtsy. “I hope your travels went smoothly,” she added, “I know that the winds of winter can be harsh.”

“That’s very kind of you, my lady,” she said. “Our journey was quite enjoyable.” 

Sansa was just staring at the woman, headstrong. 

Daenerys must have sense Sansa’s ill will towards her. “I know you are not thrilled with my being here, Lady Stark,” she announced, breaking the tension. “I can assure you, I only have good intentions,” she finished. 

Sansa raised her chin up a little higher, looking down at the queen, “and I can assure you that my home will be yours for the time being.” Sansa had to carry herself strong but still courteous, she would not be thought of as weak anymore even if those two normally came hand in hand.

Daenerys turned her eyes to Jon for a moment but then back to Sansa and nodded. While Daenerys greeted Sansa’s siblings, Sansa kept her eyes on the queen. From what she could tell of this quick exchange, Daenerys wasn't an evil tyrant like the Lannisters or even like the other Targaryens were said to be. But first impressions can be very deceiving, Sansa knew that all too well. When she had met Joffrey, he seemed to be the handsome prince of her dreams, yet he turned out to be a complete monster. Sansa was young and foolish then, in her years with the Lannisters and Littlefinger she grew wiser, more observant, she knew how to catch someone in a lie or facade. She had to go about this with caution, be sure not to make the wrong enemies or the wrong friends. She wouldn't make stupid, foolish mistakes again. Even if Jon would. 

Sansa turned her head back to Tyrion Lannister. “I was surprised to hear you were alive and well, my lord,” she commented trying to make conversation with an old friend. Was he a friend? An ally? Sansa wasn’t sure. 

“And I,” he stopped himself from finishing that sentence. Sansa figured he was going to say he was surprised to find out that she was alive as well, but bit his tongue due to the circumstances. Tyrion must have heard she was wed off to Ramsay Bolton, an absolute sadistic, nightmare of a man. Sometimes Sansa didn't even believe that she was alive and well anymore herself. It was no secret that Sansa Stark had been passed along, pulled apart, and exploited by terrible people for years. “I was happy to hear you were alive and well, my lady,” he decided to go with. “Only Sansa Stark would be able to persevere after going through what you did.”

“You would be surprised, my lord,” Sansa answered back, turning her head away from the man but still catching the smile that played on his lips. 

Sansa saw the woman called Missandei shiver again. She realized that they were all still standing out in the courtyard, and she as the Lady of Winterfell was the one who should invite her guests in. “My apologies,” Sansa said, the woman glanced her way and politely shook her head, as if she had original offended Sansa. “Everyone please, come indoors,” Sansa gestured at the party and began leading them back towards the castle. “Sometimes I forget that not everyone is used to the bitter cold of the North.”

When Sansa made it inside she went straight to her chambers, telling everyone that she had to freshen up for dinner. 

After bathing and redressing with the help of a handmaiden, Sansa was pacing back and forth in her room, not wanting to go down to the Great Hall in fear for the events about to transpire. 

She heard a knock at her door.

Sansa knew who it was, the only person it could be. 

“Jon,” she greeted with a reprimanding tone, opening the door fully to signal that he was allowed to enter. She heard him step inside the room and close the door behind him, that’s when she began to speak, “I know that some part of you thought you were doing the right thing but…”

He loudly interjected, cutting her off. “Have you spoken to Bran?”

She turned back and him furrowing her brows, but stopped once she truly looked at him. He looked like he had seen a ghost, although he had seen the dead walk yet his expression looked even more lost and bewildered now. 

“What’s wrong, Jon?” She asked him. She could tell he was drunk. Or almost drunk, but getting there. She had no idea what to expect him to say. Bran had come home with this new power, calling himself the Three-eyed Raven. He had the ability to see what Littlefinger had done to her family, which helped them then, but he could also see beyond the wall, where the army of the dead threatened everything they knew.

“He didn’t tell you about Rhaegar Targaryen?” He asked her hesitantly, as if it’s a name he shouldn't say out loud. 

“Rhaegar Targaryen? What does he have to do with anything, Jon?” Now she was truly confused. 

Jon sighed and walked further into her room to the table where she sometimes dined at. He took her pitcher of wine and filled up a glass to the brim with it then began to drink as he sat down. “He was my father,” he spit out after downing the cup of wine.

Sansa had never seen Jon drink like this, or act like this. “Father was your father, Jon,” she told him like it was obvious. 

He began to fill up another cup, “not according to Bran. He sees things, Sansa.” He began to drink the new cup when Sansa ripped the cup out of his hand. Some of the wine spilled down Jon’s front. “Sansa!” He shouted at her, getting up from his seat. Sansa ignored him, taking the pitcher of wine away as well. “Arya told me about Littlefinger,” he called out after her, “Bran was right then.”

Sansa stopped in her tracks and turned around. “Why would father bring home Rhaegar Targaryen’s baby as his own, Jon, that doesn't make any sense,” she asked him. Sansa was now getting angry with him, he was acting like an idiot and they were supposed to be meeting with the Northern Lords who already had rocky allegiance to him. All they had to do was have their leader acting like a drunken fool, displaying his new queen to them and calling himself a Targaryen. 

“Because my mother is your aunt Lyanna.”

Sansa was train of thought was abruptly stopped. Rhaegar and Lyanna? The whole reason for Robert’s Rebellion, the reason that the Targaryens were removed from the throne, and Jon was the product of it. It made sense to her, if it were true, why father never told a soul. The bastard boy of King Robert’s love Lyanna Stark and his enemy Rhaegar Targaryen.

“They were in love,” he added. He paused for a moment and looked at his sister. Or his cousin? No, he was still her brother no matter what. “They had a secret wedding.”

“That means you’re…?” She didn't want to finish the sentence.

“Yeah.” 

Sansa didn't know what to think or say. She couldn’t imagine how Jon was feeling, everything that he was told, everything that he believed about himself, was a lie. He was a Targaryen. A true Targaryen, not a bastard, the true heir to the Iron Throne.

“You’re still a Stark to me, Jon,” she assured him, thinking maybe it would make him feel better. She had told him once standing on the battlements of Winterfell not so long ago that she thought of him as a true Stark. She had meant it then as she does now.

He scoffed. 

The two of them sat in silence for a moment while Sansa tried to collect her thoughts. “Who knows?” She finally asked.

Jon chuckled under his breath. “You, Arya, Bran obviously, and Samwell Tarly.”

“Do you trust him?” 

“With my life,” he answered with no hesitation. 

“Will you tell Daenerys?” She questioned. 

“I have to,” he admitted with a sigh. “I have no desire for the Iron Throne, know that Sansa.” She knew he was telling the truth, she never thought for a second that he would leave the North or desire that position. Even if Jon is a Targaryen he is still a Northerner at heart. “I can't lose her alliance, Sansa, I need her to defeat the Night King,” he told her, trying to keep eye contact as if that would make his reasoning more true. 

There was loud banging at Sansa’s door accompanied by Arya calling out her name. 

“What, Arya?” Sansa hushed, opening the door. 

“The Northern Lords,” she breathed out, “they know about Daenerys.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things I just wanna clear up: this is a fanfic so it’s fiction (obviously) it’s just for fun guys!! so if there’s something that I have as a headcanon that you don’t have, or something from the canon that I don’t like so I changed it (literally the whole point of writing fanfics), please just roll with it or don’t read it if you don’t like it! :)

Sansa Stark walked into the Great Hall of Winterfell with her fingers crossed, hoping that it wouldn't be her last. The men around her were yelling like wild animals at one another, and at her and Jon as they passed through to their seats. Sansa wasn't sure where Daenerys or her party were but she was glad to see they weren't here.

“Enough!” Jon called out when he reached his seat at the center of the head table, “we can have a civilized discussion.”

“You forfeited that right when you sold all of us out!” One of the men screamed from his seat.

“You don't get to make decisions for us anymore, bastard,” another yelled. 

More insults and complaints kept flying up at Jon so fast that Sansa quickly grew from ashamed to angry. She knew this would be the outcome, if these thick headed men would just hear Jon out for a second maybe something productive would actually come out of it. 

Sansa stood up out of frustration, it was something she hadn't done since Jon had left, afraid of angering these fragile allies. “That is your king you're speaking to,” she spat at the men. Surprisingly, most of the men yelling had stopped, or dialed down their tones, shocked that their courteous Lady would raise her voice like that. She continued now that she had most of their attention. “I’m sure most of you, as I was, feel betrayed by Jon making an alliance with the Dragon Queen.” More murmurs and voices started growing louder after she had said this as if she was on their side. “But,” she raised her voice again, as Father had said, everything that comes before “but” is bullshit, and like most instances, Father would have been right. She continued, “if you just look beyond the surface of the alliance, you'll realize how much it actually benefits the North.” 

Sansa saw from the right of her Arya leading in Daenerys and her party of Tyrion Lannister and Missandei. She cursed her sister for doing it at this time but kept her voice strong and loud, trying not to lose the attention of the men. “With the help of Queen Daenerys and her army, the North will have thousands of more men to help fight against the army of the dead. Along with three full grown dragons.” She looked down at Jon sitting next to where he stood, his eyes looked sad, but also thankful for remaining at his side. “When Jon left to go south, he was going for our benefit, to mine the dragon glass from Dragonstone so that we would have weapons to fight against the Night King’s army. Jon returned with that as well as an army, large enough, and capable enough, to defeat the Night King. You did not chose a traitor to be your king, if you wanted that, you would have died along side Ramsay Bolton and his army. Jon had said before, that we are all on the side of the living when the Great War comes. If you choose to abandon Jon now, you might as well join the army of the dead.” Sansa felt like a thousand pounds had been lifted off her chest, yet also as if she were about to faint at any moment. She felt empowered, like a true leader, like her words actually meant something, to be taken seriously and not just thought of as the words of a stupid little girl who's playing pretend at the game of thrones. “You all chose Jon to be your king,” she finished, “you all trusted him to lead you then, you should all trust him the same now.” Sansa glanced around at her table, everyone, including Daenerys, had looked impressed with her. 

Sansa saw Daenerys stand out of the corner of her eye and felt a pit in her stomach for how the lords might react. “I see that the Starks and the North are very loyal to each other, and wary of outsiders like myself,” she started, Sansa glanced out at the group of men in front of them, no one spoke but no one looked happy to see the Dragon Queen speak to them, proving Daenerys’ point. Sansa wondered if she sounded as composed and natural when she spoke as Daenerys did. “As your Lady had already eloquently said, I am not here to take your country from you. I saw the Night King and his army, I lost one of the dragons because of them.” Sansa had not known of that, she saw the hurt in the Queen’s eyes as she continued, “you have no reason to trust me, but trust your King. Trust your Lady.” Daenerys finished and turned her violet eyes towards Sansa. They only remained together for a second but for Sansa it felt like an eternity. Daenerys lowered her head towards her with a shy smile and returned to her seat. 

“Our lady is right!” Little Lyanna Mormont had called out from the front of the crowd pulling Sansa’s view away from Daenerys.

“Thank you, Lyanna,” Sansa cleared her throat. “These people are not our enemies,” she repeated, gesturing to the right of her.

Jon had yet to speak a word, from an outsiders point of view, it would seem as though she was the leader, and not him.

“You say that, yet there is a Lannister sitting right before us!” Someone had shouted out at her.

“Exactly, he is loyal to Daenerys Targaryen, not the Lannisters,” Sansa defended. 

“Was he not your husband?” Someone called out.

“Are you giving Winterfell to the Imp now as well?” Another said.

Sansa bit her tongue. Had they not heard a word that she said? Or Daenerys?

“Enough of this childishness,” Jon huffed, kicking his seat back in anger and standing up. “Lady Stark has been nothing but loyal and beneficial towards this house.” Sansa took note of him calling her “Lady Stark” as if he were talking of her mother or a stranger. Jon lowered his tone a bit, “this isn't the first time I have been called a traitor, you all know this. When I led the wildlings through the wall, I was named a traitor, and I payed the price for that. You all cursed me then, yet if I hadn't done what I did, the army of the dead would have thousands of more soldiers. The Night King is the enemy. Not Daenerys Targaryen, not her army of Dothraki and Unsullied, not even the Lannisters,” Jon said turning to Tyrion, who gave him a short nod. There were some hushed whispers at that last statement. “We can set out the petty quarrels of the living once we have finished with the dead. That is all that matters now.” It seemed like the men finally started to listen. Of course it took a man to get through to them, Sansa thought. Jon hesitated for a moment and looked like he was about to sit down again, yet he spoke up. “You all know that I do not have the Stark name, yet you chose to follow me anyway.” 

Sansa froze completely in her seat. What was he doing? He wouldn't possibly announce that would he? She felt sick to her stomach.

“Sansa Stark has the Stark name, she has the knowledge and has proven herself capable of ruling this house.” 

“Jon,” Sansa tried hushing him.

He ignored her. “I will be here to train, to prepare, to fight. I will lead you into the battle against the Night King when the Great War comes but she will be the Lady of this house. She is the Lady of this house. The North is still her’s.” He finished and without another word, stepped away from his seat and left.

Sansa sat there in shock, in silence. She saw and felt everyone’s eyes on her. “I hope we’re all on the same page now,” she spoke up, her eyes following Jon as he left. “You can come to me tomorrow morning if you have anymore concerns you’d like to discuss,” Sansa quickly sputtered out before following Jon out of the hall. 

“Are you mad?” She shouted at him in a hushed voice, catching up with him but he ignored her. “Who's acting childish now?” She called after him again. 

He turned around and exhaled sharply, “I’m tired, Sansa.”

She stopped short, “why would you do that, Jon? You shouldn't have.”

Jon cut her off, “You know why.”

“You’re still the same man, Jon.”

“I’m tired,” he repeated, clearly not wanting to have this discussion now.

Sansa sighed, defeated. She knew that this was hard for him, being a secret Targaryen, but they couldn't seem divided now. Between that, and all he had to drink before, she knew he wasn't in his right mind. “I still want to talk,” she admitted.

“Tomorrow, sister,” he nodded, with that usual sad Jon Snow look in his eyes. He had called her sister though.

Before Sansa could say anything else, he turned around and left her again. 

Sansa felt beat, yet unable to sleep. She found her way to the godswood. There were too many thoughts rushing through her head. She counted today as a success. As far as the meeting in the Great Hall was concerned anyway. 

It was not quite nighttime so Sansa could still see her way around with the help of a small lantern. It was that time of the evening when the world turns blue and silent. Sansa sat at the foot of the heart tree facing it, the same place she had sat with Bran only weeks ago after he had come home. The day where he told her he was now the Three-eyed Raven. The day he mentioned that night. Sansa felt a shiver run down her spine. It was no longer snowing yet was extremely cold out. It did not bother her. Sansa knew she had to give Jon time even though this didn't change who Jon was, he was still Jon, still a Stark. At this point, she didn't think that anyone would turn against him if he let out the truth, yet one part of her wasn't so sure. She believed they all knew better and were on the same page, but she also knew how easily that could change, and how fragile their word truly was. 

Sansa froze when she heard the sound of snow crunching behind her. She whipped her head around to find none other than Daenerys Targaryen standing a few feet away from her. 

“I’m sorry if I frightened you, my Lady," Daenerys apologized. She looked almost like a ghost standing there in the dark in all white, only illuminated by the moonlight and cast of blue left over by the sun. 

“You didn’t frighten me,” Sansa let out a laugh under her breath and shifted in her position on the frozen ground, looking down at the snow by Daenerys’ feet. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be out here," she admitted. 

Daenerys slowly walked over to where Sansa was seated, as if she were sneaking around and trying not to make a sound. Sansa turned back towards the heart tree, one part of her still thinking that maybe Daenerys would walk away, leaving her to her thoughts. Sansa looked down at her cold hands lying in her lap and began picking at the seam of one of her gloves. She didn't know why, but she felt tense, her stomach in knots, as the Dragon Queen knelt down in the snow beside her. Sansa hadn't glanced in her direction but she could feel her presence. 

“I wanted to take a walk,” Daenerys spoke. “There are too many thoughts racing through my head, as you could imagine.” 

Sansa could relate to that. 

“I’m sure it would be more beautiful here in the daytime,” Daenerys added before Sansa had the chance to respond. 

Sansa glanced at the woman, she was so small. Hearing about the infamous Dragon Queen, Sansa imagined her to be so much larger than herself, as if she would be able to crush her with one finger. Looking at her now, she seemed much more delicate, like a doll with porcelain skin and lips painted red. She could see the flickering flames from the lantern reflect in her violet eyes, the soft light dancing across her face, illuminating her. 

“You're staring,” Daenerys told her without taking a glance away from the heart tree. 

Sansa bowed her head and looked away, feeling a slight blush creeping up her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling like an idiot. 

“Don’t be,” Daenerys assured her. Sansa felt the Queen’s eyes on her now, prompting her to look back at her. 

She did. Sansa felt every breath she took as she stared into her violet eyes. Sansa noticed how content she seemed. 

“Both Lord Tyrion and your brother Jon had spoken highly of you, and I’m glad to say I wasn't disappointed,” Daenerys smiled. 

Sansa let out a hushed laugh, blushing again. If it were daylight, she would surely be visibly red by now. She wondered what they had said, especially Tyrion. 

“And you don't seem as terrible as the stories made you out to be, your grace.” Sansa had hoped that she wasn't overstepping her boundaries and was glad when Daenerys let out a breathy laugh. 

“I could imagine what cruel and untrue words they say about me in Westeros, I’m sure you believed some yourself,” she smiled. 

“It is an unfair game, isn't it?” 

“It is indeed,” Daenerys agreed. 

Sansa didn't want to go into the conversation of politics. She knew that there were too many different conversations that would all lead to too many different messes. Sansa wasn't even sure where she stood anymore, Jon was too unclear about what he wanted, Daenerys was too unclear about who she was. Sansa was afraid to say the wrong thing, make the wrong move, and mess everything up. 

Sansa wondered if Daenerys had something to ask her, or say to her, that made her come over. They were both sitting there on the hard, frozen, snow covered ground with no ones company but their own. 

A gust of icy wind came and knocked into them, breaking Sansa out of her thoughts. She giggled a little as she saw Daenerys’ silver hair getting blown into her face. Daenerys laughed as well, pushing her hair away from her face with her white gloved hand. Sansa noticed flakes of snow melting against her flushed cheeks in the candlelight.

“Are you not cold?” Sansa inquired, brushing her own hair away from her face.

Daenerys stared at her for a moment. “Here,” she started removing the glove from her left hand. “Take off your glove,” she told Sansa, glancing down at her hands, which were curled in her lap, with raised eyebrows.

Sansa unquestioningly obliged and the Queen took her’s bare hand in hers. Sansa looked down at their joined hands, she felt the warmth radiating off Daenerys’ skin. Sansa felt butterflies in her stomach, as if she were touching something she wasn't supposed to. She took notice of her breath once again, each breath becoming more apparent. What is wrong with me? She thought. You're not doing anything wrong. They stayed like that for a moment, hand in hand.

“I think it's a dragon thing,” she told her. “Our blood runs warmer.”

“Oh,” Sansa cleared her throat and withdrew her hand slowly, unsure of what to do. She had been staring at the Queen’s dress, with its beautiful white and silver lined dragon scale detailing, unable to look back up at her. Sansa didn't understand why she was becoming so anxious. She told herself it was because of the fragility of their alliance, not wanting to mess things up, yet Daenerys seemed like she was just talking with a friend, no alliance, no politics, no war at hand.

She had remembered Daenerys briefly mention in the Great Hall that she lost a dragon to the Night King. Targaryens were supposedly bonded with their dragons, like the Starks were with their direwolves. “I’m sorry,” Sansa whispered.

“For what?” She sounded puzzled. Sansa realized that Daenerys couldn't hear her thoughts.

She ran her eyes up back to Daenerys’, “your dragon.” 

“Oh, yes,” she paused and looked back towards the heart tree, “me too.” Daenerys looked like sad, as if she would cry if she let herself. Sansa knew about developing a thick skin, not letting yourself cry in order to not appear weak. She figured Daenerys was the same way. 

“They are my children,” she told her. “They are more than just a pet or an animal to me.”

“The Starks and direwolves have ties that go back as well,” Sansa started, trying to let Daenerys know that in a way, she understood. “Like my brother Bran, we were able to warg into our beasts, live in their skin, see what they see, taste what they taste. When I was a girl, and my direwolf was killed, I hadn't had her for long, but it felt like a piece of me was gone.”

Daenerys’ eyes looked sympathetic, no pity in them, only understanding. She visibly inhaled deeply. “I’m sorry for showing up at your home like this,” she finally spoke, lowering her eyes. “I wish we could've met under better circumstances.”

Sansa’s eyes were still on her, she wanted to let Daenerys know, somehow that she was with her. “We will one day, when this is over,” Sansa told her.

Sansa saw Daenerys gently close her eyes. The night was becoming darker and the white winds were starting to blow colder. 

“I think it would be best to retire now,” Sansa said, getting up off the ground and brushing the snow off of her dress.

Daenerys followed her direction. Sansa was over a head taller than her, having to look down at her in order to make eye contact. They stood like that for a few moments as if unsure of what to do, unsure of what to say. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, my lady,” Daenerys decided, she turned away and walked back to the Great Hall, leaving Sansa alone with her thoughts once again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> over due and under done; sorry guys college is a bitch :/ I'll definitely try to get the next chapter in this week.

Sansa had spent all morning listening to complaint after complaint from various lords and bannermen. Each one coming to her with a different problem, whether it was lack of food, warmth, money, supplies, all things she didn’t have much control over.

Sansa found herself sitting by the training yard, completely exhausted and overwhelmed. The pristine untouched snowfall from last night was now packed down and muddied from various people walking over it all morning. The sun was trying to break through the clouds again with still no avail. She hadn’t seen Daenerys or anyone from her party all day, as if they were never there at all.

Sansa’s eyes were on her sister and Jon as they sparred in the training yard. To probably everyone’s surprise, Arya with her little sword needle, was besting him. She was moving swiftly, dodging every move he tried to make on her as if she knew what he was going to do before he did it. Each time she got him with needle in a another lethal spot. At first Sansa thought Jon might’ve been letting her win, yet she knew by the way Arya moved that was not the case.

But Jon still looked out of it, like he was focusing on something else entirely. He probably was. They had been sparring for almost an hour and with every minute growing, Jon looked more disinterested, with every swing of his sword, he cared less and less about what he was doing. 

“I’ve never seen Jon act like this before.”

Sansa turned to see Jon’s friend Samwell Tarly standing behind her with a depressed and worried look on his face. 

“This isn’t him,” Sam continued and Sansa looked back at her siblings sparring. Arya had knocked Jon onto his back. He lied there with one hand sprawled out over his face. 

“Come on, Jon,” Sansa heard Arya say, reaching out a hand to her brother as he continued to lie there.

“He drank too much last night,” Sansa told Sam with her eyes still set on the scene in front of her. “Now he’s making himself look like a fool.”

Sam didn’t say anything back to her and Sansa felt bad for her harsh words against Jon. She was right though. Jon Snow is said to be one of the best swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms. Everyone here in Winterfell knows he can fight and this is how he’s presenting himself? Like a drunken fool? He’s their leader, or he was anyway. Sansa still didn’t know where that position lied.

“It’s not like his behavior isn’t somewhat warranted, but he shouldn’t have come out to the training yard at all,” Sansa turned back to Sam, somewhat defending her previous remark.

“Jon’ll come around in his own time, I suppose.” He sat next to her on the stone slab bench. Samwell Tarly seemed like a very trustworthy friend of Jon’s, like all he wanted to do was help and aid, no selfish or malicious bone in his entire body. 

“How are Gilly and Little Sam?” She asked changing the subject. “It’s probably the worst time to be coming to Winterfell.”

“They’re doing great, Gilly’s dealt with colder weather than this,” he reminded her looking up at the clouded sky. 

Sansa felt stupid, she had forgotten that Gilly was a wildling, that she grew up beyond the wall and never knew anything but winter. “Right, I’m sorry,” Sansa sighed. 

“How are you, my lady?” Sam inquired, his voice soft like he genuinely wanted to know.

Sansa didn’t know how she felt. She thought back to the night before when she spent a few moments with Daenerys in the godswood. It felt surreal, like a dream where everything was good in the world. Daenerys had seemed so delicate, like an old friend, someone she’s always known and felt safe with. Only the week before, the thought of Daenerys in her home made her skin crawl. Now, after seeing the woman, those old feelings had faded. When it came to Jon, Sansa obviously wasn’t taking the news of his true parentage as sourly as he was. She didn’t think of a reason why it would effect her, he’s still the same Jon. No matter what she grew up with him, he was still her brother, he was still a Stark. Just like Theon had still meant something to her, a familial bond that’s stronger than just blood. She didn’t say any of that to Sam though, only, “I’m managing.”

They were sitting in silence for a moment when Sansa spoke up again barely above a whisper, “I’d like to hope everything will work out in the end, but I don’t think I’m that naive anymore.”

There was a loud shriek overhead before Sam had the chance to respond. It was like nothing Sansa had ever heard before, so loud and piercing that she felt it in her chest. She looked up and through the dense clouds saw two giant winged figures gliding overhead. Sansa and Sam both got to their feet, as did everyone around them, to stare up in awe at the gigantic winged beasts. 

The dragons flew over the castle walls and out of sight. Sansa looked at her siblings and saw that Arya was already running up to the battlements to see where the dragons had landed. Sansa followed her sister, her pace went from walking across the muddied training yard, faster and faster till she was out of the mud, then she picked up her skirts and ran up the stairs. 

She was trying to catch her breath once she reached Arya. Her sister looked more in awe than she’d ever seen her. She was standing on the tip of her toes, leaning up against the battlement walls like she had been the day King Robert arrived at Winterfell so many years ago. 

“Would you look at that,” Arya breathed out in astonishment, resting her chin on her hands that were crossed on top of the stone wall. 

Sansa stood next to her sister and looked over the wall onto the land below them. Daenerys’ two massive dragons, one green and one black, were hovering above the ground, circling each other, fighting over a piece of meat. 

“I suppose were lucky to have them on our side,” Arya pointed out.

Sansa didn’t respond. She just continued to watched the dragons tear apart the bloodied, charred kill.

“I still don’t trust her though,” Arya spoke making Sansa turn her eyes towards her sister. “If she finds out who Jon is, the second the war against the dead ends, she’ll burn us all alive.” She continued as Sansa stayed silent, “all she wants is that stupid bloody Iron Throne. Did you hear what she did to Sam’s family?”

Sansa furrowed her brow. What had she done to Sam’s family? Had she killed them? It had to have been with good reason? Right? Sansa was about to ask when Jon appeared behind them. 

“They’re magnificent aren’t they?” Jon spoke up looking in between them at the dragons below.

Sansa looked at her brother, he looked tired, worn out. She could tell that she was giving him a look of pity because he softly whispered “Sansa” under his breath. 

“You shouldn’t have drank so much last night,” were her first words to him, reprimanding him like she was his mother. 

“You don’t need to tell me that,” he responded.

“Think she’d let you ride on the other one?” Arya asked, Sansa couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

Jon chuckled under his breath and looked down. 

“How are you feeling?” Sansa asked him, her eyes still on him as if she stared long enough she’d be able to read his thoughts. 

“Still tired,” he told her. The same thing he said last night that got him out of a conversation.

Sansa sighed. “Look, Jon,” she started. “I know this isn’t a good time for you but we need to talk. All of us.” 

“I know, I’m getting everyone together tonight.”

“Oh,” Sansa said, she didn’t think it would be that easy. “Everyone like Daenerys?”

Jon nodded.

“You can’t tell Daenerys,” Arya interjected.

Sansa sighed. “Even if she feels threatened by him she won’t do anything,” she tried to convince her sister, even though she didn’t know if completely believed it herself.

Arya gave her a look. “How are you so sure about that?”

“Because right now the Night King is the only enemy, that’s why they went to Kings Landing to make a truce with the Lannisters.” Sansa was getting tired of repeating herself. “Daenerys isn’t that stupid, Arya.”

“How would you know?” 

Sansa didn’t answer that, biting her lip. “Jon’s the only other member of her family that’s alive,” she spoke barely above a whisper, not wanting anyone else to hear. Arya scoffed. “How could you be so naive? All she cares about is power and Jon threatens that.” 

“No she doesn’t,” Sansa bit back quickly. Arya looked at her like she had two heads, since Sansa probably would’ve said the same thing about Daenerys two days ago. “Jon doesn’t even want the Iron Throne,” Sansa went on, ignoring her original comment so she wouldn’t have to explain it, considering the fact that she didn’t have any basis for it. 

“She doesn’t know that.” They were arguing as if Jon wasn’t standing right next to them, as if he weren’t able to say his own piece. He might as well have not been since he had yet to utter a word, again.

“But she will, when we talk to her.” Sansa knew she had way too much faith in the Dragon Queen at this point. 

“Since when do you trust her?” Arya demanded, growing annoyed with her sister. 

Sansa sighed again trying to think of what to say. “I don’t know if I do. She just… I don’t think…” Sansa paused, not wanting to say something that wouldn’t make sense, and not knowing what to say that would make sense. “We have to now,” she decided. 

Arya gave her a strange look but turned to Jon. “And you trust her?”

Jon nodded. “She knows the severity of the Night King and his army, she saw what they could do. She wouldn’t do something to lessen our chances of defeating him.” 

She saw Arya clench her jaw and look away back towards the dragons. Arya was always the least accepting of outsiders, especially after everything that they’ve been through, she doesn’t blame her at all. 

“There she goes,” Arya pointed out. 

Sansa followed her gaze back over the wall. Daenerys was walking out in the white field alone to her dragons. Sansa was astonished in the amount of faith Daenerys had in her dragons to be able to get that close to them while being sure they wouldn’t hurt her. Though some would say the same about the Starks and their direwolves. Sansa remembered what Arya said before, “what happened with Sam’s family?”

“The Mother of Dragons burned them alive for not bending the knee,” Arya explained, saying the words “Mother of Dragons” like it was a curse. 

Sansa felt uneasy at that. Daenerys’ father was the Mad King, who burned her grandfather and uncle alive in the throne room at King’s Landing. It wouldn’t be a shock if Daenerys was no different. Sansa shook the thought away, she wasn’t going to expect the worst, especially after last night.

“Sam’s father wasn’t an innocent man, Arya.” Jon had mentioned Sam’s familial life to her before, when he had gotten the letter from the Citadel about the dragon glass on Dragonstone. She didn’t know when anyone would’ve told Arya.

“What’s gonna stop her from doing that to us when we don’t bend the knee?” 

“Would you stop saying that?” Sansa half yelled at her sister. 

“Would you stop defending her?” Arya yelled back. 

The two girls both glared at each other, neither one giving in. They were acting like children, fighting over something stupid like a dirty dress or bad stitches.

“Stop fighting, you two,” Jon reprimanded.

The two girls looked to Jon and Arya let out a hushed laugh, “you sound like Father.” 

“You do,” Sansa smiled looking at Jon. He was trying to hide it but he was smiling as well. She felt like a child again. “I wish he were here,” Sansa remarked.

Jon breathed out, “me too.”

Sansa felt a little twinge of happiness at that. These days she almost took her siblings for granted and she hated that she did. She just wanted to hold them close and never let them go, never go back to the lives they led outside of Winterfell. 

“I think the dragons know, somehow, who I am.” Jon spoke up, for once giving her some insight to this thoughts. Both Sansa and Arya turned back to him, previous smiles faded. “Through instinct or something,” Jon continued to stare off into the distance between the two girls. “When I met the black one, Drogon, for the first time, it was as if he already knew who I was, like he trusted me the way that Ghost would trust me.”

It made sense to Sansa.

“I saw Nymeria,” Arya started up.

Nymeria? Her direwolf? Sansa looked at her with a furrowed brow, “what?”

“She was in the Riverlands with her own pack of wolves. Even after all these years, she knew me. I know she did.” Arya looked down like she was recalling a dream.

Sansa wondered why she never told her this. 

“They know,” she turned to Jon. “They’re smarter than we think.”

*** 

Sansa was pacing back and forth behind her seat at the table in the Great Hall waiting for the rest to arrive. A round table was brought in so that they could all have a conversation as if they were equals, instead of one person above the other. They decided on having the meeting in the Great Hall because it was big enough for everyone to fit it, yet private enough to not be overheard. It was completely cleared out save for Bran, Arya, Jon, Sam, and Davos seated in their respective chairs.

“Will you just sit down?” Arya called out, groaning from her seat.

“I can’t help being nervous, Arya,” Sansa expressed, listening to her sister anyway and joining them at the table in her seat next to Jon. She started tapping at the wooden table with her fingers and Ghost came to lie by her feet.

Daenerys walked in then, with her head held high and Tyrion Lannister and Missandei by her side. Her fur-lined dress had the same scaled detailing as the last one she’d worn, yet this time it was black. There was a silver chain running across her torso with a three-headed dragon clasp by her neck, the Targaryen sigil. They all stood to great her but she looked confused.

“What is this about? Has something happened?” Daenerys asked. Her eyes flickered briefly to Sansa’s then back to Jon, who had called the meeting. 

Jon sat back in his seat. “There’s something important that needs to be shared,” he explained, turning to Sansa as if to seek her approval, as if he was unsure about what he was about to do. 

She barely gave him a nod and she wasn’t sure why, but her gaze landed back on Daenerys, who was looking at her with hardened eyes. Tyrion and Missandei had taken their seats yet she continued to stand at the back of her chair, as if she didn’t feel comfortable enough to sit. 

Jon cleared his throat, “Bran?” 

The boy who was Sansa’s little brother, but now the Three-eyed Raven, began to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cut it off right before the spicy part because I'm trash ;)


End file.
